


You Could Make A Religion Out Of This (please don't)

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: The Almighty sits on high, distant and unreadable. Satan never gave a damn for any of them. But Aziraphale, ah, Aziraphale.OR Crowley finds religion and it's his best friend.





	You Could Make A Religion Out Of This (please don't)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't shake the idea of a demon praying to an angel not for mercy but understanding, offering not piety but understanding in kind, and also of Crowley trying to coil up in Aziraphale's lap despite not currently being snake-shaped.
> 
> I am new to this canon so please be gentle with me.
> 
> eta: Now with a sequel, [Knock Knock, Get The Door, It's Religion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152991)

It is a very cosy moment, this. Let us set the scene: Aziraphale is almost-but-not-quite lounging comfortably on a soft, plush couch. Beside him, Crowley sprawls out, taking up the whole thing with his long legs. He has his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s middle, one arm draped loosely over his waist. Aziraphale, in turn, has one hand up, stroking featherlight touches oh-so-gently along Crowley’s temple, through his hair, down his neck, along his back.

So comfortable.

It has been silent for some time- _comfortably_ so, of course- and it is Crowley who breaks this silence.

“Let me worship at the temple of you,” he murmurs, circling Aziraphale’s hip with his thumb. “Let your name be a prayer upon my lips.”

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Aziraphale says, pausing the path of his hand as it traces along Crowley’s arm.

“Got it off the internet,” Crowley says, as dismissively as he can manage. “Fanfiction.”

“Ah, yes. It’s good stuff.”

“Mm.”

They fall silent again, a bit less comfortable than before. This time, it is Aziraphale who breaks it.

“Mind you, you tried that once, and it didn’t go well.”

“You mean that whole  _Church of Aziraphale_  thing?” Crowley shrugs, manages to convey with one boney shoulder how unimportant he considers the matter. “That was just a lark, really. Thought it would be funny. And it was!”

Aziraphale is stiffening now, unfolding from his relaxed,  _comfortable_  posture, and suddenly the moment is gone. Let us paint the scene again: Aziraphale, sitting upright, hand still and resting tense on Crowley’s arm, Crowley, trying to salvage their comfort by sprawling across Aziraphale’s lap, twisting to look up at him.

“Oh come on now! It’s not like it caused any harm or anything. It was just a bit of fun, lasted all of a week. It was fine.”

“You  _started a religion_  around me!” Aziraphale says, half-wails, and Crowley almost seems to deflate under the weight of his anguish. This is something truly upsetting to him, a hurt that Crowley believed- mistakenly, it would seem- was buried in the past.

“What’s even so bad about it? So half a dozen people chanted  _Glory, Aziraphale_  for a week. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I don’t want to be  _worshipped_ ,” Aziraphale says, as though the very  _idea_  is to him as abhorrent as rebellion, as hellfire, as a striped top with check bottoms. “Even for a lark. When people worship you you have to take care of them.”

“Where have _you_ been for the past six thousand years?”

Aziraphale deflates a little as well, and adds a meek, “At least, that’s what I’ve always felt.”

“Well see-” Crowley shifts, now, turning fully so that he’s not entirely in Aziraphale’s lap, but damn close to it; he loops his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and with the other traces up his side. Aziraphale’s hand finds his hip almost magnetically in this new position, his thumb brushes ever-so-much against a thin, exposed strip of skin. “-that’s the thing, innit? That’s  _why_  you deserve to be worshipped. Nice change, don’t you think, having the person you’re worshipping actually care about you? ‘Stead of using you as some- some  _tool_  in some ineffable plan.”

“All the same,” Aziraphale says, firmly, leaving no room for argument. “ _All the same_ , I should not like the responsibility. Encouraging people to do good, canceling out your influence, that’s all enough responsibility for me. It’s hard to take care of people when they start amassing, you know.”

“Mm.” Crowley must concede that this is true: taking care of a few people is probably easy enough; taking care of a whole population requires more attention and work than one angel could reasonably be expected to put in. (Not to mention time that, in Crowley’s opinion, would be better spent paying attention to Crowley.)

Crowley shifts again, trying to coax Aziraphale into relaxing once more, and pillows his head against his middle, nuzzling a little until he’s made himself comfortable.

“All the same,” Crowley echoes, “I think you can manage enough attention to take care of  _one_  worshipper. It’s not like I need  _much_  looking after, after all.”

There is a long, tense moment, one that stretches out into eternity (and Crowley knows eternity): and then Aziraphale shifts, letting the tension out of his edges, and his free hand comes to rest on Crowley’s head, stroking his hair oh-so-gently. Crowley sighs contently and leans into the touch, tries to coil even more into Aziraphale’s lap than he already has.

“You need  _so much_  looking after,” he corrects. “I suppose  _someone’s_  got to take on the job.“

“Right,” Crowley mumbles, muffled in Aziraphale’s middle. He’s starting to doze, sleep stealing over him now the tension has gone and comfort has once more been restored. “Sssave everyone else the trouble, that’ss right.”

Aziraphale’s expression is soft, here: radiant, affectionate, and even as he looks down at Crowley dozing in his lap it softens even more and he murmurs, low enough to not wake the sleeping demon, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with you anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> The line Crowley quotes at the beginning there is a line from a fanfic I haven't actually written yet so I suppose that means this takes place either in the future or in a timeline where I get off my ass and finish writing Hallmarks in a timely manner. And also slightly implies that Crowley has read my fanfiction. Whoops, I guess?
> 
> Ho-hum, this is the part where I link my blog, right? If you want to see more from me, or tell me about someone else exploring the idea of Crowley making Aziraphale his new religion and doing it better than me, hit me up over on Tumblr @grifalinas! I'm always happy to hear from a reader!


End file.
